


Airborne, Sky Bound

by qaolu



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Bobby Wonders Why He Let Buck Move Cross-Country to Chase Ass, Buck is a Panicked Gay™, Eddie is Just Trying to Do His Job, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, pilot AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaolu/pseuds/qaolu
Summary: Eddie is a pilot and Buck is a new flight attendant who can't stop thinking about the cockpit.
Relationships: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 232





	1. Up, Up We Go

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I hope I don't misrepresent anything about airports, the occupations within them, etc. during this. I am a college student who did all her research online. I just made up a random airport and I also don't live in Los Angeles. Let me know if I fucked up.
> 
> Anyways, here's a "buddie-ng" new romance for ya.

Buck has his head in the clouds.

They're flying, he's rapping on doors rather than refilling orange juice. The pilots tell him to enter, but he only cares about one of them.

His mechanic version of the safety instructions is interrupted by an annoyed outburst from the woman in the eighth aisle.

"Why do we have to still watch this shit?" She complains, most likely forgetting the basics of being on a plane. She's cross, and Buck stops, remembering where he is and that he shouldn't be fantasizing about the man behind the cockpit who is focused on _flying the damn plane_. His mask is taken off his mouth to reveal somewhat of a disapproving gesture they instructed to be used when speaking in a disciplinary yet motherly tone. The woman sinks down in her seat.

"Ma'am, this is a public safety measure for in case you need to retain oxygen. Usually there's a video and a flight attendant to display the proper procedure to ensure maximum efficiency. Also, we have children on board, so please refrain from cursing and remember that if an accident happens, you are to tend to them first as opposed to yourself. Please take up any issues with respective attendants rather than your fellow passengers. Thank you."

The woman shuts up like she's been hit by live wire, rerouted to the spot and suffering from a confusion only known as being politely destroyed by a customer service employee.

Buck smiles, remembering to seal the deal. Emotions cannot be shown besides unadulterated joy and a straightforward compliance for the rules.

Or even a feeling he didn't anticipate, like when he's paired with co-pilot Edmundo Diaz.

Everything started innocent enough. Fresh from his training, he waltzed into the airport with the comfort of knowing he was ready for action. He had picked a relatively small place outside the hectic nature of Los Angeles, settling on starting small and familiar. Becoming certified by the Federal Aviation Administration was a piece of cake. It didn’t help that him taking a couple of community college courses such as rudimentary Spanish made his resume sparkle, or that he knew Bobby Nash.

Bobby was a pilot, a longtime friend and Buck’s surrogate father (though that fact perhaps the man himself didn’t quite know yet). Buck wanted to be like him, emulating every action as he shut out the influence of his birth father. A long time ago, Bobby and his father were on good terms, but then the former went across the country to seek new opportunities. Things soured when his sister Maddie and Buck followed, ducklings ready for a new start.

He didn’t have the money to go to pilot school just yet. Buck would need the exposure, connections and a steady paycheck first. Maddie was more of the responsible parent than either of their blood relatives, so Bobby helped them get jobs away from the craziness of home in the business once they showed an interest. She was a couple of years older, so she was already experienced in not exactly traveling the skies, but organizing the flight patterns. She ended up being tasked as a crew scheduler and office management, doing the mathematics of who needs to be where on what day. Behind the scenes, dictating from a desk.

Escaping the clutches of childhood, the wings of a plane seemed to transport the Buckley siblings not only to a new destination but a piece of mind separate from their rocky personal lives.

Before takeoff and real run time, the staff generally meets together and discusses their travel paths, schedule and more. Buck was struck by nerves, anxious energy building in his chest. Then, as he headed towards the room, situated in a private area separate from the influx of normal passengers, that melted into a puddle of thankfulness as Bobby strode towards the door.

“There he is,” Bobby teased, with a hidden warmth perched underneath his tongue,“I swore I didn’t plan this at all. Not exactly a small world here.”

He was right. For a ginormous city like Los Angeles, the fact that Buck’s embarking mission was one with his favorite people was a lucky coincidence. Happiness replaced his worries and then all was peaceful. _Just like the drills_ , Buck found himself repeating. _Business as usual_.

That went out the window, launched onto the landing pad and fled to a distant country when he found on the other side of the door was a handsome man, studying his notes, biting his lip ever so slightly. _Who the fuck is that_.

“Buck, I want you to meet my first officer and copilot for this flight, Eddie Diaz,” Bobby gleaned, showing the other who would be his new acquaintance, “Finest flyer from Texas I’ve ever seen.”

“Howdy,” Eddie tipped an imaginary cowboy hat with a forced, cliche accent, “Just kidding. Nice to meet you, Buck. Bobby’s told me a lot about you.”

 _Why didn’t Bobby tell Buck a lot about Eddie?_ He flustered in his thoughts before remembering that an actual human conversation was taking place around him.

“Hey,” Buck grinned loosely, wrapping his mind around the ordeal, “Got my FAA certification just the other week.”

The other members of staff were shuffling into the room, all clad in their outfits. Buck recognized one of them from a twitter profile and waved to a short shaven woman in the typically masculine attire. She suited it perfectly.

“Hen!” Buck called, turning briefly from the pilots to call her attention, “That’s your name, right? I think we’ve seen each other around before.”

She smiled knowingly and walked over.

“Henrietta. Don’t wear it out,” the woman nodded to the rest of them, indicating respect, “Welcome to the crew.”

Apparently, Buck was the sole newcomer. They went over the plans, Bobby leading and Eddie offering choice words here and there, mostly about the weather conditions and the time it would take to go from their location to Toronto. Hen turned out to be the lead attendant, and she assigned Buck to the first class section right by her so she could monitor his progress.

The copilot kept catching his attention, maintaining a steady aesthetic of being stoic but with a playful sheen in the brown of his eyes, practically waiting to chime in just to stake his claim on the schedule. Buck couldn’t stop looking at the sculpted jawline, fluffy hair that certainly needed to be fixed, and... _shit_.

Eddie noticed Buck staring and his face straightened, becoming serious.

Then, breaking the trance, he winked.

_Bastard_.

Four hours were about to by rather smoothly.

Buck knew it was rash to assume the man he had just met would be interested in time away from the hustle and bustle of airplanes. However, he knew that airports were unpredictable, even if they were rather nondescript compared to behemoths like LAX. Typical pilots who have been around for a while get to bid on lines, or regular schedules for flying. Bobby had told Buck before that he liked some semblance of normal and ordinarily received one of the top picks from the draw. While it was nice for Buck to introduce himself, there was little chance the group would fly together again as a unit. Then, he realized, maybe he should calm down instead of drooling over the second in command when he was only now getting in command of his own life. Maybe fate would draw them together again. God, Buck was so predictable. He sees a single pretty person and puppy dogs his way into charming-

“Buck?” Hen sounded him out of his fantasy dreamland, “If you don’t help me stock this cart full of sodas, I’m going to knock your pretty head against the bathroom door.”

“S-sorry,” the other apologized, back to shoving cold cans onto ice, “First real flight. I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Hen reassured, “As long as you don’t puke on someone, you’re golden.”

“What a high standard,” Buck laughed, easing up. Soon, the people would be shuffling onboard, waiting to be greeted by the horde of attendants. They’d give instructions, contort their faces into welcoming expressions, and takeoff would go according to plan. Piece of cake.

Or not.

“Passengers, this is Captain Robert Nash speaking,” Bobby says over the air, commanding the presence solely through his vocalization.

"And this is your first officer Edmundo Diaz," the other man broadcasts his voice, "Thank you for flying 118 Airlines, where your call is always answered.”

Bobby took over again.

“The weather in Toronto is going to be chillier than our lovely Los Angeles and the flight will pass by in around four and a half hours with low turbulence. Please let our lovely staff know if you have any questions or concerns. Brief refreshments will be offered."

Eddie repeats saying the same thing in Spanish, but Buck can't decipher a single word. So much for the classes with Professor Flores.

Besides the unfocused start, the trip is mostly tourists looking to explore one of Canada's biggest cities. He catches an accent or two that might be returning home, and realizes that people watching is simply a job requirement for him. That's good. Buck loves people.

The new recruit and Hen were joined by a couple other flight attendants tasked per every group of fifty people, rounding out the essential personnel to get the massive machine into orbit. When Buck straps himself into the jumpseat, he's bursting at the seams with excitement. The trajectory that the plane launches with is exhilarating and a reminder of what hope is.

Years ago, fresh with a bruise on his face to match the birthmark and raw from a physical fight with his father, he wound up at Bobby's front door. The man took him in and made sure Buck was on the straight and narrow when Maddie wasn't around. It's the pride that fills his soul upon hearing Bobby on the announcement, but curiosity overtakes that familiar feeling when Eddie speaks. Edmundo. The man is teetering on the edge of visual perfection even if his real personality is yet to be explored, straddling the sidelines of ambition. Buck wondered if he wanted to be a pilot, too. Surely that's the only reason anyone would want to be first in command, right? Better than second and below captain.

"You space out a lot," the other attendant says through the first class curtain with a smirk, "If you're going to cut it here, you have to be more in the moment."

His name was Josh, and Buck liked him instantly. Maybe he _was_ too friendly? Oh well. The human labrador had gained wings.

But the other was right, Buck had devoted too much of the time dedicated to thinking of possible romantic endeavors rather than relishing in the fact that he made it. No man or woman stood behind this feat of becoming a member of the family. The airport home to plenty of people on a daily basis had Evan Buckley pulsating through its underground, a part of the background and about to reap the benefits of proper mentorship and somewhat of a college education.

They did a quintessential job, with their snack deliveries, luggage securing and escaping to the minimal private space towards the front of the plane when there was a moment of silence. Picking up the trash multiple times? Not a highlight. But the four hours went by quickly, swallowing up the time, and Hen was in the middle of telling Buck a fabulous joke when a voice crackled to life again on the announcements.

“Alright, we are approaching the tarmac, ladies and gentlemen. The temperature is a brisk fifty degrees, cloudy. Everyone make sure you are strapped in, trays closed and feet grounded,” Bobby called, running through the mental and verbal checklist.

“What he said,” Eddie mused, then did the motions in his first language.

“When is our return flight?” Buck tried to ask over the wind sounds outside, “How much time do we have here, I mean?”

“Got a little over three hours,” Hen brisked for the impact, holding on, “Why? Want to see the sights of the great Toronto?”

“No, I’m just hungry,” Buck chuckled, “Not really in the mood for peanuts.”

He was half-joking, because no airline would dare sell nuts anymore. Too much of a risk for allergies. He wasn’t joking about the food part, because running up and down the first class section built up his appetite. The time was around four, so it was dinner time. It would be closer to night by the hour they’d return, enveloped by the comfort of darkness and twinkling stars masked by invasive light pollution. In training, when they stuck him in a hotel for about a month-long period to learn the ins and outs, everything from courtesies to hijacking, they told him that sometimes everyone would grab a meal together depending on the amount of time in between flights. Or, the airport would be a free game. Buck’s mouth watered thinking about the bucket of chicken he got one time in a Florida airport, tender and juicy. He didn’t know a damn thing about Canada or what their airport had.

“They have shit food here,” Josh quips, jumping into the conversation, “I’d recommend raiding the pilot lounge instead. Sweet talk your way into a real meal.”

“Already planning on it,” Buck gave a thumbs up, “Bobby is my ticket.”

“Sure it’s not the young and handsome one?” Hen teased.

“Why would you say that?” Buck came back with a flimsy retort, but he was promptly shushed. Led by the air traffic patrol, the plane descended uneventfully. Two parents in the second aisle were holding their young children’s hands like it was a rollercoaster, trying to distract them from thinking about their ears clogging.

“Everybody, please remain seated until your belt light goes off,” Hen called out, crossing the threshold of the class barrier to keep her schtick going, “Proceed orderly and calmly off of the plane and don’t forget any luggage. Have a nice day,” she sauntered back up.

“That’s how the pros do it,” Josh shrugged, “You’d never be able to tell she hates them.”

“I do _not_ ,” Hen snapped, “It’s just not a real relationship. I see these people once or twice and never again. Being nice makes my paycheck and also stops assholes from ruining my day. You should try it sometime,” she leaned by the door.

Masses shuffled out, slowly and carefully. Buck had to stop himself from curtsying or bowing or whatever the hell his body was doing as he bid farewell to the passengers. The door to the cockpit swung open.

“Good job everyone,” Bobby brightened, “Buck, how’d it go?”

“Just fine,” the other responded, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, “Would you wanna grab a bite to eat or something? If you’re free, I mean.”

Bobby’s face faltered a bit, “Buck, I’d love to, but I have to go prep the team who’s taking this bad boy out next. We’re changing planes for the next flight home. Gotta give them the rundown, go over the stats. But I’ll get there when I can.”

Eddie had trailed behind him at this point, waiting for his chance to make an exit.

“What about you, Eddie?” Buck asked, definitely too enthusiastically.

The older man appeared amused, clapping Bobby on the back as he walked over.

“You trying to use me for my pilot’s lounge privilege?” he casually asked.

Sweat beaded down Buck’s face, “Maybe. I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Josh joined in, a welcome voice, “Eddie, please? If I have to pass another awful salad place I’ll jump out of the plane with no parachute. Promise.”

“Fine, fine,” Eddie waved, “Hen, what about you? It’s been a while.”

“Catch me on the next time,” she insisted, “Gonna go take a nap in the regular crew lounge, away from your boujee pilot specialties.”

“Ouch,” Eddie pretended to wince, “They’re not that different, you know. Just a bit better food and comfier seats.”

“Exactly,” Buck leaned on the side, rubbing his hands together, “I need more than a food court discount.”

“Not a cheap date,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Josh, you know where to go. Show him the way. I’m gonna help Bobby for a second and I’ll meet you there.”

“Aye aye,” Josh exaggerated, then took Buck along down the steps, approaching the tarmac. People were milling about, different colored shirts flashing on the runway, sticking out in the sea of concrete ground. A much smaller airport, the Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport was the Pearson Airport’s meeker cousin, a mere shadow of the bustling machine back home.

118 Airlines only flew out of certain places, which lowered the amount of staff needed. LAX would have eaten them up in one bite, even though they left from the same destination. Buck had never been to Canada, never really thought about it. Much more fascinating places awaited him, like France or Japan.

“Now, this place isn’t exactly five stars with a private chef, but there are more options,” Josh continues, waving to the baggage claim workers, “Sue usually gets me into these. They have actual food here, not just french fries and chicken nuggets or airplane food.”

_But I like french fries and chicken nuggets?_ Buck finds himself thinking.

“Usually, we have to just hop onto the next flight and go home. This time, though, they planned our return flight a few hours out,” Josh was almost dancing in joy, “Which means we can sit, breathe and annoy the pilots while they do paperwork.”

Buck couldn’t even tell if he was being sarcastic.

The door to the pilot’s lounge connected to conference rooms, computer hubs and a plethora of other necessities. Both of them waited outside, chatting and ready for Eddie to meet them there with his ID card. Otherwise, they didn’t have the clearance. The flight attendant lounge was attached to the reverse entrance, segregated to make way for varying layouts, but Josh said it wasn’t worth it to go all the way down only to come back in five minutes.

“Boys,” Bobby turned the corner first, “Look who we have here.”

“Guilty as charged,” Josh quipped, “Showing Buck how other airports are. Bigger ones.”

“What, you don’t like home?” Bobby said, “Eddie’s right behind me. I managed to beat him. You guys go ahead, I have to call Athena,” he swiped his card, and the reader lit up in recognition.

Like giddy schoolchildren, Josh and Buck went inside. Athena was Bobby’s wife and the head of the TSA agents at the airport in Los Angeles. They were the power couple, ruling together over the skies and earthbound welfare, too. Buck spent hours at their house in his teenage years. If they could fraternize with each other, what’s stopping him from pursuing Eddie? Life’s too short.

“This way,” Josh grabbed his hand, and Buck was taken aback, “You think too much.”

Finding a lush, private area, they saw past the rows of cushiony couches to set their eyes on the prize: a table lined with snacking material, complete head to toe with food.

“Score,” Buck beamed, grabbing a plate, “What do the flight attendants eat here?”

“You’re cute,” Josh chaffed, “They just get a discount on the food court.”

In the middle of preparing his meal, Eddie walked in.

“Do they not feed you on the plane?” he shook his head, amused nonetheless.

“Like, chips and stuff. It was a four hour flight,” Buck pouted in response, forking mashed potatoes into his mouth like they were going out of style, “...Oh. Bobby let us in.”

“Thought you broke into the joint,” Eddie sauntered over, surveying the table. He was examining each dish more than necessary, his coat still hanging around broad shoulders.

“Come sit with me,” Josh pulled Buck over to one of the tables, careful to keep his voice down in case there was someone catching up on sleep in the corner out of sight. Buck, mouth full of mac and cheese, followed. They ate in quiet until Eddie joined them, sitting opposite. Bobby had let himself in by that point too, and he broke out in a wide grin.

“Got the whole place to ourselves,” he fixed a plate, “How we doing, boys?”

“Full and happy, sir,” Buck gave him a thumbs up, to which the others sighed. Bobby pulled up next to Eddie, taking off his jacket and putting it on the chair behind.

“So, clearly you guys know each other,” Josh began, looking between them, “What’s the history there?”

Eddie chuckled, and Buck put down his fork. He was about to start saying something when the older man, fresh from his spurt of laughter, pointed to his face. There was a bit of food on Buck’s cheek. In the time it took him to nab it away, Bobby was busy giving a short summary of their years together.

“Bobby’s like my dad,” Buck blurts out, interjecting randomly, “Best pilot ever.”

“Aw, sweet,” Josh giggled, “Eddie, you’re a dad, right?”

Buck’s ears perk.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s face might have been happy before, but now it’s practically glowing, “His name is Christopher. Let me show you a picture, Buck.”

He could almost wag his tail if he had one.

“I love kids,” Buck reciprocates the expression, and his heart melts. Eddie’s phone is showing a young child, hair curly like his dad’s and with adorable cheekbones. His glasses are perched on top of his nose, and he has crutches for support. Before Buck can ask, Eddie answers.

“Cerebral palsy,” Eddie explains, cautiously, “Love him more than anything in the world.”

It’s at that moment, selfishly, that Buck realizes this might mean a wife. He didn’t even think of the possibility that Eddie was taken, nonetheless heterosexual. His heart guides the way, steering without using a brain. It’s a tough life.

“More than your wife?” Buck says before he can catch the words to stuff them down his throat, and it’s a stupid question. One, _of course_ every parent loves their child more. Two, it’s flat-out embarrassing to ask. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

Eddie almost chokes on the food, and Bobby gives Buck a stern look that would indiciate a _what the fuck dude_ if he’s seen that phrase ever communicated nonverbally. Josh is kind of living for the drama, and he snorts.

“We’re separated,” Eddie gets his composure back, shaking his head, “Wow, Cap. Is your boy always this direct?”

Now, Buck is giving Bobby a _don’t fuck this up for me_ stare that goes unnoticed.

“He doesn’t know any other way,” Bobby shrugs, returning to his meal.

Buck fell into a pattern at work, going on domestics and meeting the people migrating across the skies. He didn’t mind the crosscountry endeavors, but felt a burning need for something with a little more variety than California to Nevada and back again. The months went by, him getting used to the coworkers but never super close with any of them. They were only together for brief moments, after all. Thankfully, the airport wasn’t so large that there were entirely new faces every time. Josh and him got drinks pretty frequently, and Buck enjoyed Hen’s company too. There was Michael, who was a bit stoic, and of course, the trips to his sister’s office on the opposite side of the elaborate building. She enjoyed the busy office work, making excel spreadsheets for schedules and payrolls, passing the time while hunks of machinery took into the air outside. It was too slow for Buck. He’d get antsy. Well, he’s always antsy.

Enough time had passed that he forgot about Eddie Diaz besides sporadic texts between them, until they crossed paths at the Starbucks. Buck was on his phone, waiting for an iced americano, when he was tapped on the shoulder. He spun around to see a flash of _hello, gorgeous_ and realized who had approached him.

“Hey,” Eddie leaned on the counter for support, its vast surface littered with opened sugar packets and splashed liquids, “What’dja get?”

“Americano,” Buck remembers who he is, and that he cannot drool in front of someone who has more seniority and superiority than him, “You?”

“I’m waiting on a frappucino,” Eddie says, in an attempt at humor, “Just kidding. I’m picking up an order for the rest of the guys back in the pilot’s lounge.”

Buck hasn’t been to the one at his own home airport, he realizes, just the one in Toronto. He doesn’t really see a need to, because the regular employee lounge is comfortable.

“Cool,” he doesn’t know what to say, and prays his order is up soon.

“Buck!” the barista calls, sloshing a drink his way. Buck gratefully receives it and checks the name on the cup anyways. Last time, they said Buck and wrote ‘fuck’ hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Is your name really Buck?’ Eddie pries, stepping aside to let Buck throw away the wrapper once confined to his plastic straw. Maddie would be complaining to him right now about saving the turtles. He figures he needs saving right now, because he doesn’t really know how to push small talk with a guy as attractive as Eddie.

“No, it’s Evan,” the younger shifts, “Buckley is my last name.”

“Oh,” Eddie replies, “The new schedules come out tomorrow. Haven’t seen you on my list in a while, so I was curious if maybe I just got your name wrong.”

_Nope, that’s me. Evan Buckley, the man, the myth, the legendary dumbass._

“Evan, Buck, it’s whatever,” Buck takes a sip from the venti sized beverage, “Do you need help bringing the drinks back? Is it a lot?”

Eddie studies the other for a moment, then waves a hand over to the barista for his turn of drink collection. The first officer relaxes.

“You can help, if you’d like,” he gestures to the second carrier tray.

_Yes, yes, yes_.

Eagerly, Buck grabs the indented cardboard. There were an array of refreshments from a straightforward black coffee, a passion fruit iced tea and a couple of whipped cream toppings belonging on containers of indiscinerable liquids. He wanted to take a finger and scoop some off of the rim to pop in his mouth, but resisted the childish desire. Eddie began walking, Buck trailing behind.

“How’s Christopher?” he steadies his hold.

Eddie, gripping the first array of beverages, seems to illuminate at the mention of his son, “He’s good. I get to see him tonight and then not for a couple of days, so we’re going to spend time together. My abuela stays with him when I work.”

Buck likes being a friend, getting to know others, and learning of a beloved child only heightens his interest. He really adores young people, wants to see them grow and prosper in ways his father never could have hoped for him. Be the Bobby for someone, essentially.

“What are you guys doing tonight?” Buck jogs a little closer, slower than expected.

“You ask a lot of questions,” Eddie steps to the side, letting Buck keep pace. His legs are shorter, the younger man towering over him, but he’s on a mission to the pilot lounge where no one can stop him, “Probably go to the park or something. I’m finishing up now, just running errands for the crew taking the overnight to New York.”

“That sounds nice,” Buck comments absentmindedly, “I should meet him sometime. You know, if that’s cool.”

The first officer halted, the ice of the drinks smacking into plastic walls, “You want to meet my kid?”

“I mean, I like kids. Maybe you could score yourself a super cool babysitter to give your abuela a break every now and then,” Buck was in mild panic, not expecting the puzzled reaction. He wasn’t being creepy or weird, right? He just likes meeting new people. He’s a golden retriever out loose in the world. And Eddie makes his tail wag a bit more than most do.

Eddie took a deep breath, exhaling into the curves of a slight smile, “I’ve worked here for years and no one on the job has ever asked me if they could meet my eight-year-old child.”

“He’s been eight years old for years?”

“Wow,” Eddie scoffed, “You’re something, you know.”

Buck was unable to tell if his feet were still moving, adjusting to the pace of the copilot as they sauntered down the airport towards the multiple lounging areas.

“I will take that as a compliment,” he can see the gold plaquer in the distance, indicating their closeness to the final destination, “Why do they separate the pilot’s lounge and the flight attendant’s lounge, anyways? Makes it harder.” His question is kind of random, more out loud than intended. The stream of consciousness bounces from brain to throat, internal monologue rearing its head.

“Well,” Eddie’s free hand accidentally bumps against Buck’s hip, and he returns it to the tray where it cannot wander, “To prevent interactions, I guess. This place had a bad history with affairs in the 80s, which is why the rules are strict. Divorce rates skyrocketed, lawsuits came, the works,” he moves a strand of hair over, the loose lock coming down to obstruct his view.

“And now everybody thinks flight attendants are flying mattresses,” Buck’s breath almost hitched, wondering why he even bothered to vocalize the question initially, “You know, it takes two to tango.” His voice climbs up an octave, rising in pitch from sheer awkwardness.

Eddie faces him by the door, grabbing the card from its lanyard to scan it, “So, you get it. That, my friend, is how my ex-wife left the picture,” he has more spirits about the subject than Buck would have ever expected, practically baiting a response, “...If you were curious. Coming in?”

Buck is confused at the way the conversation is ending, but he catches the opening with his foot, following Eddie into the room. It’s fancier, unsurprisingly, and a group of people are sitting at the main table chatting.

“Over here,” Eddie points, and the coworkers are cheering for their salvation, “Thanks.”

“Who’s this?” another one of the pilots takes the tea, looking at Buck strangely.

He shifts awkwardly, smoothing down the folds of his shirt.

“This is Buck,” Eddie rests a hand on his shoulder briefly, then takes it down, “Buck, Abby. Abby, Buck. Surprised you haven’t met yet.”

“I’m kind of new,” Buck squeaks out, still reeling from earlier, “Nice to meet you.” She’s a pretty older woman, auburn tresses and kind eyes.

“Hope to fly with you soon,” she greets, then sips loudly, “Diaz, get out of here. Go home.”

Eddie nodded respectfully, then glanced from Buck to the door, “Want to meet me out there?”

Buck’s mouth formed an ‘o’, and he walked backwards, getting the picture, “Take care.”

The pilots and copilots went back to their chatting, with Eddie going off to the corner to grab his things. Buck opened the door, and scanned the room before waiting outside. _That’s a normal conversation to have, right? Or is he warning me? I’m probably naive and obvious. Strike that, definitely._

“Sorry, she’s very clinical,” Eddie closed it after him, a large leather bag slung over his shoulder, “Thanks for helping me with the drinks.”

“No problem,” Buck tried to seem casual, “You’re leaving now?”

“Yeah,” he fiddled with the keys in his pocket, “You know, Buck. I see why Bobby took such a shining to you.”

His heart did backflips, betraying him.

“What do you mean?” his feet tapped the floor, but he was far from uncomfortable. Their interactions came naturally, and the longer they talked, the less anxiety bubbled up from within. It felt gratefully real, a cooling wash of emotions rather than an outward throbbing of the chest. Like there was a hidden understanding, one that echoed through their bones. Safe, even. Like he didn’t have to try as painfully as he did at first.

“You’re a good guy,” Eddie fucking _laughed_ , sweet christ, “I feel like we would be good friends. Now, if you don’t mind me, I have a date with sandboxes and swing sets,” he stuck out his hand.

“Tell Christopher I said hi,” Buck met the extension, cordially shaking. “See you around.”

“Hopefully soon,” Eddie added, turning on his heels, “Later, Buck.”

_Oh, no_. He was absolutely smitten and the dread of facing reality slapped him across the face. That’s not how the workplace operates. He even dropped the hints, dangled them right in front of Buck to watch the gears turn in his head. Eddie made things clear. But Buck wasn’t stupid, nor was this his first rodeo. The man had lingered a beat too long on the handshake, with a drawn out stare between them. His actions spoke more than the words, sparking curiosity.

A storm was brewing, and Buck expected nothing but turbulence.

“Maddie,” Buck put on his best pouting face, “You have to get me on that flight to Tokyo. It’s life or death.”

Okay, well. He’s not a stalker, that’s _creepy_ , but he did glance at the flights for tomorrow to see that Eddie was going on an international journey to a place he pictured visiting for years in the making, maybe even decades. The bright lights, busy metropolitan vibe, and wonderful food were enticing. Pilots, whether they were the captain or first officer, always got their picks in advance; the perks of being around for a long, long time. Buck was still relatively new, hell, he hadn’t even met the one female pilot until today. For a place likes Los Angeles, the dynamics were still old-fashioned. Besides the newest influx of male flight attendants.

“Really?” she hasn’t stopped typing, focusing on the screen, “Is this so you can match with a particular person? I don’t condone stalking,” Maddie reads his mind, frowning although her eyes give the act away, the trickster inside her coming alive. She’s his sister, after all.

“Fine, maybe,” Buck gives up, exasperated, “But it’s my dream flight and dream guy.”

“You’re annoying,” Maddie starts clicking again on the keys, her nails hitting the letters, “Give the guy some space. You just started here, don’t mess everything up because you can’t keep it in your pants. Just because you have a little crush doesn’t mean I have to reroute the schedules to get you on the same flight. Patience, please. It’s a virtue.”

“Do you want me to beg?” Buck pleaded, “It’s one thing. I think he likes me back, or might if we talk more. I’ll pay for a manicure? Get you a date with the guy from air traffic control? What’s his name, Chimney? Is that his real name?”

“Oh my god you’re a pain,” Maddie feigned a gagging motion, then realized it looked like she was implying something else other than her disgust. Her nose crinkled. Buck almost fell over, then rebounded, “...at least tell me his name. Jesus.”

“Eddie Diaz,” Buck invaded more of her personal space, “Help me out? Please?”

“Fine,” Maddie gave in, realizing it wasn’t worth the fight, “But you owe me. I don’t even know if I have the clearance to adjust that flight. I’ll text you and let you know.”

“You’re the best sister ever,” Buck fist pumped in victory.

“I know,” Maddie basked in the praise, “Now get out.”

Hours later, as Buck returned to his loft apartment, a single text buzzed on his phone.

_Sayonara, Evan Buckley_. _Enjoy your flight. If you get smacked with a harassment charge, this conversation never happened and will self-destruct in three, two, one..._

He celebrated with a beer and crashed onto his bed to sleep.


	2. Down, Down We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 118 Airlines goes to Tokyo, where the trip doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the rapid tense changes in this chapter and I hope everyone is doing well after the finale last night.

His body is buzzing when he trots into the employee entrance, and he bumps into Hen checking out the schedule on the board. It’s there in all of its accurate glory, the flights dictated by pilots and their crew. She gives him a funny face when he practically floats on air towards him.

“What are you so happy about?” Hen scoffs, flipping the page, “I can’t believe I have to go to Tucson. Again.”

_Whoops_.

“I’m going to Tokyo,” Buck clasps his hands together, “My first international. We’re going to have two days there where we can do whatever we want.”

“Ah, so sushi,” Hen smiles, “Lots and lots of sushi. They’re putting you all in that nice hotel, right?”

Buck pretends he knows what she’s talking about, “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna have to talk to Athena and see if she’ll bring down the law on the schedulers,” she continues, back to her minor annoyance, “Some new kid is getting an international and I’m getting the same shit over and over.”

“Dumb luck,” Buck shrugs, walking away. Or Maddie.

The crew members are all new to Buck, save for Abby and Eddie. It’s been months, but he doesn’t know these people. Bobby once told him that international and domestic flights are either loathed or coveted, with the same crowds flocking to place their bids repeatedly. He watches intently as the pilot, who acknowledges him with a raised eyebrow, goes over the itinerary. Eddie is next to her, adding in a sentence here and there.

“We’re going to be staying at the Courtyard by Marriott,” Abby instructs, “Now, I know you can see the details on the computers later. Every room gets two people. Floors 9 and 10. Me and Eddie will have the suite on Floor 11. Now, we have almost twelve hours of flying, people. Let’s act normal and then we can rest in the city.”

It’s the neverending daydreaming that persists when that woman goes on her rant.

_Stop thinking about Eddie_ , Buck is frustrated by the connections his brain makes.

Five hours in, after dinner is served, he tells the lead attendant that he wants to lay down. In the back of the plane, there’s a set of coffin-style beds, all on top of each other. That is the sweet, sweet solitude of a flight attendant on a long flight. He configures his body into the crevice and kicks off the dress shoes. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he’s reckless.

But he’s about to find out.

The hotel is looming, a beacon of artificial light and architectural prowess. The design makes Buck think about Michael, the flight attendant who was adamant about the _beauty_ of planes, buildings and other structures. To Buck, it was a edifice of well-deserved rest and room service, the tiring nature of dealing with passengers sending him deep into exhaustion on the way there. He slept like shit on the plane, never really able to get comfortable in the recess of the aircraft. For the sake of his growing career and future aspirations of becoming a pilot, he hopes that the front rest areas are bigger, better and keep the commotion out rather than in. The noise-cancelling headphones given to the attendants are not exactly the best model on the market, with sounds creeping in from crying babies and complaining commuters. Buck figures it’s time he buys a pair of his own when the car pulls up to the Marriott’s front entrance.

His roommate is bouncing off the walls already, running his mouth and fist bumping at every possible interval. Buck thought _he_ was the latest recruit, now sorely mistaken, but Albert is a piece of work. He came straight from training in South Korea to get a job in Los Angeles, swindling his way into the first international fight. This was supposed to be Buck’s victory, but the guy is reigning champion. Buck wants to suffocate himself with the pillow case. It’s like Albert is never without a jolt of energy or an insatiable appetite for conversation.

 _Is this how everyone sees me? Yikes_.

“Buck, do you wanna go out with the rest of us? There’s a cool nightclub down the way, with like, tons of hot girls,” Albert is putting the clothes he packed into the closet, bursting at the seams, “You’d have a great time.”

It’s only five o’clock, but Buck wants to sleep. They left at one thirty the previous day, and with the adjustment to Tokyo’s time zone as well as the jetlag, he’s like death warmed over. 

Being a former heartbreaker who’d have one night stands with women regularly, the attendant knows that’s not his current state of mind. Buck wants to find a human being for a partner rather than gain additional notches on the bedpost. That ship has sailed, leaving the port long ago.

While a flight attendant could have a global rendezvous easier than most (he’d be lying if that wasn’t appealing to him as a teenager), Buck preferred to settle on the excitement of travel or the chance he would meet a special person separate from sexual trysts. Could be he’s turning into an old man, weathered by his long history of giving people orgasms and then never talking to them again. Maddie said over coffee once that he’s growing soft, malleable from age.

“That sounds fun, but I’m beat,” Buck attempts a cross between a lie and a truth, because _yes_ , he is dead tired but no, it does not sound like an enjoyable way to spend his first night in Tokyo. He wants to be able to recollect the adventure for years to come. Shit, maybe he is getting old.

“Suit yourself, man,” Albert sticks his tongue out, apparently thinking it’s cute, and reaches forward for a fist bump. Buck grants him the salvation of flesh meeting knuckle only to flop down onto the mattress in hopes the lights get turned off soon. In a couple of minutes, Albert is gone, the room dim from inactivity. For a moment, Buck forgets that he hacked his way onto this plane, and he shrinks down on the recently made hotel bed, guilty at the reason. _Eddie_. He’s asleep before the culpability catches up with him.

Buzz, buzz _._

Buck reaches for his phone, stirred awake by the noise.

_Did you go out to the nightclub with the rest of the flight attendants?_

He squints, trying to read who it’s from.

Eddie. It’s from Eddie.

_No,_ Buck types back, dumbfounded, _I crashed. Woke up to this. What’s up?_

_Would you want to grab a drink from the restaurant on the main floor?_

The message almost makes Buck think he’s still dreaming. _Sure, is it fancy?_

_Don’t wear your uniform but don’t wear your pajamas,_ Eddie sends back dryly. Buck would definitely add an emoji to that if it was his own creation, but he suits this is the only way Eddie knows how to speak, by vaguely including emotions and referencing action more than words. It’s a language he’ll have to learn.

The restaurant is known for its grilling, and the aroma of meat wafts into Buck’s nose as he reaches the hostess stand. He’d be lying if he said the menu would be new to him, researched on the ride down to the main floor. Scouring the specialty drinks, meals and desserts granted less fumbling in public or embarrassing himself when the waiter asks if they’re ready.

Regardless, there’s one part of the menu that missed his initial scan.

“Horse meat?” Buck’s pupils grow in size, “That’s gross.”

“Don’t be so dismissive of other cultures,” Eddie shrugs, flipping over the page to the various alcohol selections, “Might be normal to them, even if it’s weird to you.”

Buck had pulled on a flannel over a tightly fitted tank, trying to dress casual. He thought the ambience was great, decorated nicely and thankfully humming with people. Beef sizzled on the table next to them, accompanied by a young Japanese couple. They were having fun.

_Maybe we can have a good time like them if you don’t blow it._

“I am _not_ being dismissive,” Buck knew Eddie was teasing, but he kept pressing the topic, “I think anyone who wants to eat horse meat should eat horse meat. I’m just not one of them. Going to get,” he thumbed over another side, “The burger. With the french fries.”

“How authentic,” Eddie’s eyes were crescent moons, waxing and waning and making Buck see stars, “You’re getting a burger in Tokyo?”

“Look,” his hands went out wide for emphasis, “That’s for night two. All I want right now is greasy comfort food to shake me out of the fact that my internal clock has gone to shit.”

Eddie picked up the Japanese whiskey, swirling it. He was casual, the barrier between them down. It was like two normal guys hanging out, not coworkers with ranks to divide their interactions.

“You already have big plans for the second night?” Eddie took a sip, “I’m doing the flight plans in my head over and over.”

That made Buck kind of sad. Flying around the world was one of the perks, the variety of locations as well as the downtime when traveling itself had been arduous. Rest is a necessity.

“Why do you take the job so seriously?” Buck reached for the beer, foaming in its glass, “Like believe me, this gig is everything to me, but I have to have fun doing it. Otherwise it’s bad pay, fucked sleep schedules and tending to middle aged women with angry wisdom to share.”

He was cut off by the waiter, bounding over to their table.

“Have you decided on your dinner?” She had a cute accent and high cheekbones.

“Burger with the french fries,” Buck decided.

“Let’s do the combo with beef sirloin, Japanese garlic and french fries,” Eddie handed their menus over, “Arigatou gozaimasu,” the older smiled, voice deep. The waitress left.

Buck was slack-jawed and staring.

“What? It’s simple Japanese,” Eddie scoffed, “For thank you.”

“I can barely remember simple Spanish and I took it for a whole semester,” Buck rubbed the back of his head. College was a distant memory at that point, so he forgot foggy visions of vocabulary and the meanings of second languages. Crossing his arms, he scowls, “You didn’t answer my question, man."

Eddie paused his ribbing session to grow sincere, changing the pace.

“Everything I do is for Christopher. Everything. This job puts food on the table for us.”

His intensity was magnetic, serious. The dedication grew palpable. Buck wishes he could’ve had someone who cared that much growing up, praising rather than attacking.

“He’d probably be even more proud of his dad if you got promoted to a full-time pilot. One day, I’d love to be captain,” Buck says, then sees if he wants to clink their choices of alcohol, and Eddie meets him in the air. He sloshes the whiskey around in its glass, eyeing the ice cubes.

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie repositioned on the seat, “Except I’m busy enough as is. Christopher deserves to have me home more. But I see maybe you _do_ care about this flight attendant thing,” he’s softening now, yet wrestling with an undercurrent of emotions that the other cannot place. Earlier, a pleased vein pulsed through the exchange, light ridicule and peace. It was instantaneously charged with an indiscinerable tinge, shades darker as the night dwindled down. Eddie took a deep, bated breath, “Flight attendant turned pilot, huh?”

“I will try a beer in every major city across the world!” Buck raises the glass, impishly showing joy as a divergence, “And look good doing it. To the skies,” he attempts to cheer again. Eddie shakes his head, but indulges him.

“Your food,” the waitress is back, holding a dish in one hand and a cast iron pan in the other. The burger has a smattering of avocado, fries neatly in a container on the side. Presentation alone makes Buck’s mouth water in anticipation. Eddie has a full plate in more ways than one, the food given fried company of onion rings, grilled vegetables and of course, the large steak.

“Arigatou...gozaimasu...?” Buck slurs, failing at accurate pronunciations. Eddie almost spits out his food. Again. What an awful way to ruin a beautiful choice of meat. The waitress laughs in the same forced customer service tone that Buck has practiced time and time again. He’s red, though. Up to the ears.

“Idiot,” Eddie nearly cackles, and Buck knows what that word means, “You want some of these onion rings? I can’t eat all of this.”

“Sure, man. You can keep your vegetables, gross,” he retorts, childishly manhandling the food. They eat and talk intermittently, ordering a couple more drinks in the process. Buck cannot remember another time where a new bond came so easily, friendship burgeoning fast. Their playful synergy could evolve into a romantic commodity in no time, outings like this routine. If only they were allowed.

“I was thinking,” Eddie started, and the younger man knew nothing good ever came from that segue, “When we finish up here, if you’re not doing anything else...the suite they put Abby and I in has a mini bar.”

The hamburger bun might be wet with his grown up tears, Buck resolves.

“Sure,” he achieves nirvana, “Sounds fun. She won’t mind?”

“There’s a main area aside from the bedrooms,” a wicked, sinister _something_ is creeping up on the corners of Eddie’s lips, “As long as you’re not too loud.”

 _Oh, a challenge_. Sexual innuendos abound.

“Depends on how much we drink,” Buck tries not to wink, but it’s hard resisting.

When they pay, Eddie insists on putting down more cash than needed, making a comment about how he gets a higher salary which quantifies him covering the bulk of it _and_ tip. He has yen, Japanese currency, to boot. It all feels kind of ridiculous.

Their bodies bump together on the elevator ride, situated in the back corner while other hotel guests file onto the moving metal box, the last fragments of Buck’s mind held by the same kind of rope. Or hoist. Whatever they’re called.

He wonders if he’s reading too much into the way Eddie’s hand falls next to his, or the heat rising from the space they share. He’s picturing their legs slotted together, messy kisses and...okay _stop_. Nothing should happen in his pants prematurely. The two men share a normal, friendly bond that would be absolutely perfect if it escalated into sex on a bed neither of them had to pay for. Buck assumes that his interpretation of the things going on are colored by this festering, nagging crush rather than any semblance of reality.

But then _why_ does Eddie look so damn _interested?_

Buck steps out of the elevator, almost stumbling. Where the room is, he doesn’t know, but he’ll follow blindly. Eddie swipes the card, an interaction eerily reminiscent of their earlier meetings, and the flight attendant automatically sees what differences the rooms have based on rank alone.

A main area led out to two bedrooms with a couch and minibar, yet before Buck could even turn the corner to check the goods, Eddie pipes up beside him.

“There’s champagne,” he drags a thumb across his lip, “In the fridge.”

_God. Damn._

“What are we celebrating?” Buck pries the vessel open, greeted with a characteristic chill. There’s a large bottle, several beers and a couple of snacks that are too similar to the standard airplane food. He grabs the obvious choice.

“Hm,” Eddie rounds the couch, plopping down, “To new friends and for you, new places.”

“I like the sound of that,” the younger man mentally debates whether to go for the caged top. It’s not his first time getting fancy, but he might be afraid of the cork launching through a window or into a person’s eye. He figures plenty of 911 calls have centered around champagne's fissure, the fizz leaping in hopes of landing in a tall, elegant glass.

“Can I trust you with that?” Eddie appears thoroughly entertained.

“Of course,” Buck hardens, the inner macho bravado coursing through his veins. He’s strong. He can open champagne in front of someone he thinks is cute. The air creaks out of the bottle, and he fails at preventing the awkward, concentrated bracing for impact that instinctively occurs. Releasing the pressure, Buck revels at a mission success.

Instead of instigating more casual banter, though, Eddie’s quieter again, muted.

“Are you sure she’s not going to hear us?” Buck breaks through the imaginary barrier, “Last thing I’d want to do is piss Abby off.”

“She’ll manage,” he lets Buck grab the glasses, watching him move about, “Besides, we’ll just be talking. Nothing wrong with a conversation.”

Buck joins him on the leather seat, and they clink glasses, “To friendship.”

Eddie’s mind is clearly elsewhere; where, Buck has no clue.

“Or something like that,” he ends up saying.

As the idle chat continued, heat built under the collar of Buck’s shirt. Simultaneously, he can see through the man beside him and see the blueprint of a doting father, attentive friend and successful copilot. Except no matter how Buck digs, unearthing the top layer, he cannot find what the intentions of their nightly escapade is. His fingers could dip into the earth, revealing the truth within, and calling out Eddie’s voice would fail to echo. There’s a void. White noise, black holes.

“Hey, why’d you ask me to dinner?” Buck musters up the courage to ask, recoiling at the implication his words convey, “You could have done anything with your time in Tokyo, even if you’ve been here before.”

Eddie puts the glass to his lips, tasting.

“I wanted to talk to someone who I felt I could have a good conversation with,” he’s looking to the ceiling, “When all you do is work and the rest of your free time is spent making sure your kid’s okay, there’s not a lot of chances to get close to people.”

Buck gets it. If Bobby wasn’t already his favorite person in the world (next to Maddie, of course), he would be lamenting at their lack of interactions outside of the job. Since they both started flying on a frequent basis, matching schedules could be difficult. Off days were set aside for catching up on sleep, television and eating normal meals. The loneliness was unbearable at certain points.

“Well, I definitely talk more than you, so I think I have you beat there,” he offered.

The door creaked, footsteps approaching fast. They turned in buzzed unison at the noise.

“Can you keep it down, please? Sorry,” Abby was in a nightgown, hair disheveled, “ _Oh_. Buck, you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Buck felt intrusive in the suite, making himself smaller, “We’ll be quieter.”

“You’re the best,” Abby smirked, secrets hidden in her confidence, “Goodnight, boys.”

Eddie was staring at the ground now. Fire could’ve sparked from the concentration involved. Her shock at seeing Buck had left a sour taste in his mouth, brain conducting olympic-level conclusions. _Why did she think this was scandalous? Nothing’s happened yet._

“She’s...nice,” Buck searched for the appropriate words, “Her voice was a little weird when she saw me. Am I not supposed to be here?”

Eddie breaks from the glaring to meet his eyes, unspoken words and forgotten time. Possibilities are twisting in Buck’s mind, unable to read anything past the silence. The other man leans over, looming for a moment in the space of the hotel room, then pulls back with a ferocity that makes Buck nearly jump out of his own skin.

“We can’t do this,” Eddie says abruptly, “I’m sorry. It’s inappropriate and it’s entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have invited you up here. As your first officer, this is wrong.”

Buck might faint.

“Why not,” he gulps, “Look, I want to, Eddie. You’re not taking advantage of me or using your power or anything. Jesus, I even had my sister rig the schedule to be on the same flight as you. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

A mixture of anger and fear wells up in Eddie’s expression, and he’s pushing him away, making distance from the suite table like it’s filled with flames. They are caught, wandering aimlessly in the pale of Buck’s gaze and the deepening chocolate of Eddie’s.

“You did what?” the older man said, finally, “That’s a breach of procedure.”

Buck is already getting up, he already knows this song and dance, he’s not stupid-

“I don’t even care about that. I like you, Buck. I really like you. But you’re a flight attendant and I am a pilot. There’s a reason these things don’t work out and that this industry is a breeding ground for affairs, divorces and broken hearts. Now, please. Leave. We can’t.”

He doesn’t even want to settle for the small win of the knowledge they had a mutual connection, the reality that his mind was not a liar, nor was his senses; but his common sense, the one that causes a man to go from right and wrong, that was compromised. Buck’s walking away, legs carrying him without protest. Evan always puts people in the worst situations, he’s always selfish, he taunts authority and breaches trust.

His body goes down the stairs, around winding steps, to the hotel room he’s supposed to spend the night in. A twin bed situation meant for coworkers, not a luxurious sprawl for two people involved romantically when they shouldn’t be. Everything has a place. Buck has to learn his.

Rejecting sleep, Buck tortures himself with reflection, punishing his brain for going wild. It was something just beginning to blossom, a budding connection, but appreciated nonetheless. In a dream world, he’d pursue Eddie whether they were police officers fighting crime, teachers battling over English lectures or even firefighters growing too close to fire. The passion would still be there, the longing. His heart would cross the boundary every time.

There was something special about their relationship, friend or not.

And he threw the entire thing out the window in one night.

The next day drags on, and instead of seeing the sights or trying the cuisine, Buck is inside his Tokyo hotel waiting for minutes to turn to hours. Albert tries to convince him to go for sushi, but he waves him along to go find other potential wingmen. He resigns himself to a fate where the twin bed swallows his body whole, shutting out the world. It’s not the time. It’s not the place. He’s not cut out for this job, he has too many emotions. Normal people can meet others, let alone those in positions of leadership, and not buckle at the knees for their approval.

Buck knows he’s not normal, far from that descriptor. His father would yell at him right now, claiming a victory because the old man is always right, Evan is a failure. He fucks up what “normal” individuals can do without sparing a second thought, slow actions never able to match the pace of everyday life. Mindless courses at community college, following in the footsteps of a man whose professionalism he wishes to emulate, Buck has no identity. Evan Buckley is a void of irrational decisions and brutish mistakes. He wonders how Maddie got all of the good genes and he’s as useless as his parents said he was.

Room service udon noodles were a welcome gift to his stomach, and he tips them nicely with the spare change he brought along, sheepish because the currency is undoubtedly American. The shrimp tempura crunches, chopsticks mindlessly picking at pieces of food. Buck can’t believe he’s fucked this all up, made Eddie doubt himself, and now the younger will never meet the son with the striking smile from pictures. He’ll be lucky if Eddie doesn’t tell Bobby and he escapes being reprimanded or fired.

_I’m sorry,_ a text from Eddie at three in the morning reads, but Buck doesn’t open it. He knows it’s probably hard for someone as aloof as Eddie to send a vulnerable message, most likely plied by booze and inhibition, except Buck is having trouble caring, to be honest. Everyone else can date in the business freely. Why can’t they? What makes it different? The one that pops up afterwards makes his stomach sink, plunge down to the lower depths of the earth.

_We can try to be friends. You can still meet Christopher, if you want._

His body aches. Albert is convinced he has a fever. He wants to jump off a cliff.

_I thought we were already friends_ , Buck types back, then erases it completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me. Again.


	3. Up, Down, All Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck and Eddie finally learn to stop running away from the problems and towards them, for once.  
> Well, Christopher taught them (they can take entirely no credit for anything).

Buck’s happy for Maddie, he really is.

 _But_ , he’s also turning green at the news, jealousy slapping him across the jaw till it leaves marks. Maddie knows her brother, knows when the emerald glow comes about his aura, because well, he’s not exactly a guarded person. Buck wears all emotion on his face.

“Look, Chim is a really good guy,” she reassured him, “You don’t have to worry about me. That’s not what this is about though, right? Something happened with that Eddie guy in Tokyo.”

“Nothing happened,” Buck sighed, “Okay, everything did. We were going to kiss and then he told me to leave because he’s a pilot and I’m a flight attendant and he cares about his son too much to risk the career. I get it. I’m just bummed out, is all.”

Maddie rubbed his arm tenderly, listening, “Maybe he’ll come around. Besides, everyone else does whatever they want. Bobby and Athena, now me and Chim, what’s the difference?”

 _Ouch. The million dollar question_.

“That, I can’t tell you,” Buck massages his temple, “Probably because of Christopher. His son.”

“You were always good with kids, since you never matured past the age of five,” Maddie twinkled, complimentary blush finding its way to her nose. His sister was a gift from above. “Give him some time. Maybe he’ll see that you’re fine with him having a son _and_ you respect his dedication to the job. Now, go get some lunch. Your stomach won’t keep quiet and I have an hour till my break,” she squeezed him tight, then left him in the food court. Maddie only had time for a short getaway to the “bathroom” that she managed to fit in as a celebratory _hey I’m no longer single_ parade. They must have thought she fell through to the sewers, the newly coupled woman took so long comforting her brother. Buck appreciated the gesture.

He grabs a salad that matches his mood. It’s been a week since Tokyo, and he’s been handling the forced rejection quite well, all things considered. The revelation of his sister being taken should have been a happy one, except it left him feeling empty. Contrasting departments could date freely, although granted their respective divisions were outside of the very visible flight attendant and pilot relationship. Encounters sensationalized by the media, the dynamic between the similar careers could be seen as scandalous.

A finger poked him in the back, stirring him from thoughts that never helped.

“Hello, Buckaroo,” Athena sat across from Buck, “You look like a goddamn ghost.”

“Feel like one,” he moved over the mushy egg slowly decomposing in his salad, “Had a rough week.” Lettuce fraying, dressing sour, Buck wishes the salad would disappear to save him the experience of trudging through its contents. Up, up to the sky. Down, down to the bowl.

“A whole week?” Athena had that frighteningly maternal tone that washed over Buck like a wave, sea foam pricking at the tear ducts, “Bobby said he saw you and he thought someone died.”

“Just my dignity,” he raised his shoulders, transported back to teenage years theatrics.

“Don’t be a drama queen,” she went up vocally to match him, sternly, “Talk to me.”

“You know Eddie Diaz?” Buck started, wanting nothing more than to disintegrate. Athena's eyes slanted, interest piqued. He continued, “We like. Kind of had a moment in Tokyo, but he was worried that bad things would happen if we, you know. Dated. While being coworkers.”

Athena scratched her chin.

“Bobby and I do it,” she established, “That took work. You guys aren’t really close yet, but if you put in the time, I’m sure it’s fine. Bobby won’t fire you.”

Buck’s eyes widened.

“He wouldn’t?”

“No, silly,” Athena huffed, “I think what’s stopping Eddie is not knowing whether to trust you. Have you met his kid? That might help.”

“Can’t exactly lead with that,” he put his head in his hands, “Hey, Eddie, mind if I meet your son after you texted me sorry and I ignored you to wallow in my own self pity because you don’t want to pursue anything with me? Yeah, cool.”

“Stop your moping,” Athena tilted her chin upwards, “There’s your shot right there.”

As if shot out of hell, Buck whipped around to see an older woman helping a young boy walk, his cheerful nature unmistakable. _Christopher_. She had smiles worn in the lines of her face, features adjacent to the ones on Eddie’s. _His abuela_.

“Go say hi,” she urges, ramping up in intensity, “Buck, I love you, but move your ass.”

Gone with the wind, he flew off, feet carrying him across the threshold. Something unmistakably paternal had stirred within his soul upon seeing the child smiling like a million bucks. He wanted to sit and listen to whatever it was Christopher had a fixation on or pretend he knew what television shows aimed at young audiences talked about lately. He _also_ happened to be related to Eddie. A win-win scenario.

His abuela instinctively placed a hand on Chris, one that indicated protection and comfort, unwavering as Buck approached. In a carefree, innocent stride, the young man flashed his teeth. He waved, all pearly whites and pink gums.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” Buck thought the words might have come out in pure gibberish from the speed his body pulsed, wavelengths ahead, “My name is Buck. I work with Eddie. Are you looking for him?”

She kept her grasp, but turned slightly in interest. Christopher waved again.

“Buck,” he radiated with joy, “Nice to meet you! My name is Christopher. My dad is the best pilot in the entire world.”

“Well, he’s not exactly up to pilot status,” Buck exclaimed, then swung a hand over his mouth. _Shit_. _Not in front of the kid. Maybe he lies to save face_.

“Huh?”

“Christopher,” a voice cut through the mess, strong and clear, “Abuela, why did you come through this entrance?”

Eddie walked over, and Buck sucked in breath so hard he might’ve pulled a muscle.

“Daddy!” Christopher’s face matched the sheen of Christmas lights, “I made a friend. His name is Buck. He says he’s your friend, and he also says you’re not a pilot. Yet.”

Then, Buck understood everything, from the doubt to the resilience. Eddie saw his son in the airport and for a few moments, the world paused to bask in the glory, clapping from the sidelines. He practically emanated a trusting glow, their relationship a sign of dedication. The man would bypass any danger for the child before him, and come back with a lollipop as well as a free hand to run his fingers through tousled, curly hair. Eddie _loved_ Christopher.

Buck wanted, if they allowed, to sit idly by and show encouragement. Their bond showed him that fathers and their sons could have a connection, lifelong promises upheld by both individuals. He ached for a piece of the picture, but was okay, for the moment, to watch them create shapes. Eddie was a good father. Nothing could shake him from that belief.

“I mean, your dad is going to be the world’s best pilot, but he’s still getting there,” Buck offered bashfully, hoping Eddie would take the lifeboat. Hands extended, reaching. _Please_.

“Yeah, Chris, I’ve told you before that my title is co-pilot for now,” Eddie kissed the boy’s head, then glanced upwards at Buck. Signs of appreciation transferred from the father up towards the skies, aimed in his direction.

“Sorry, Edmundo. Christopher likes coming this way so he can see the whole airport before we get to you. Mr. Buck kept us company until you got here,” his abuela reassured.

“Thanks, Buck,” Eddie stood back up, getting closer to Buck than they’d been in a whole week, “You met my little superhero.”

“Superman,” Christopher corrected. God, he had a personality. Buck didn’t know it was in the stars for a kid to be so refreshing, so happy. Nothing could stop him, especially with his support system.

“Well, superman, I’ll leave you guys on your way,” Buck looked from father to son, then back again, “Hope to see you flying by soon. Make sure we know if you’re coming so we can watch you glide next to the window.”

Maddie, in her honesty, had hit the nail on the head. Buck was good at talking to children. He pretended to surf the air, eliciting another victory giggle from the child.

“Yeah!” Christopher grinned, “Daddy, your friend Buck is cool. I like Buck.”

“He’s not so bad,” Eddie glanced off to the side, the teasing hesitant, “...Thank you.”

Buck’s jaw was clenched, but he said his goodbyes. It would never be that easy. Spectators would not dare to rob the lead actor from center stage, where his muse lied.

The world is cruel.

“You sure get a lot of schedules with Eddie,” Josh is suggestive, though that ends when he sees Buck’s face fall, “Oh god, what happened?”

“If everybody could stop asking me, that’d be great,” Buck felt clammy, shaking at the list. How, as soon as he was attempting to patch things up, did the stars align for them to be on a flight together? That allowed no breathing room, a mask cutting off his circulation. They were better now, that was sure, but who knows what would happen during the voyage. He barely saw where it was landing. Nothing mattered except the name mocking him from afar.

“Sheesh,” Josh shook his head, “Good luck.”

Luck doesn’t work for the Buckleys very often. There’s a chance of redemption, though, embers of opportunity burning coals at his feet. Butterflies weren’t exactly the right description for his stomach anymore. Slithering down a disobedient core, malignant and present, was _potential_. Perhaps he should be prepared in case the elements surprised him, entire form bracing for impact. Buck throws together a solid ‘maybe’ before heading onto the plane, shoving the likelihoods into his jacket pocket for safekeeping.

_Calm and collected, Evan_.

The cockpit tormented him from afar, a nearby yet distant signifier of what exactly was wrong in his life. Unexplored potential, crushing defeat. He strained against his urges to make further peace, magnetically drawn down the aisles. It was hard enough shutting out Eddie during the flight briefing. A constant in his life, however, was Bobby; the man had descended from the clouds to be the pilot, lead Buck to the light and away from dumb decisions.

Too much felt identical to his first flight. Except now, he knew Eddie.

...But Eddie had avoided him like the plague until Christopher visited.

Sure, Buck was the one to ignore first; the up-front rejection had enough finality to it that it seemed that the level of alcohol Eddie ingested would only be detrimental to their work rapport. Spending a night drowning in booze only to then reach out via late night text messages unraveled that further. Appearances, like he said, were the business. They couldn’t afford to be without paychecks.

When he saw Christopher come to the airport, Buck knew all at once. He would never fully process the depth as a single man with no children, but could compare it to the time Maddie came home after being abused by whichever asshole boyfriend existed back then. Buck had wanted to praise the ground she walked on and keep that momentum until she realized her worth. Eddie had fallen out with his ex-wife due to the industry, but never fell out of being a good father.

Of course, he had help, what with probably his parents too (Buck did _not_ want to pry about the dynamics unprovoked), but Eddie might like having an extra hand around. Someone to watch Chris who also might be named Evan and want to hold the hands of his coworker sincerely, telling him that it’s okay to be cautious. Hell, even scared. Buck got it now.

An intervention needed to happen, for both of their sanities. Telling the head flight attendant he had business to take care of, he went into the cockpit as they soared by the blue oceans. Bobby was at the helm, Eddie beside him. The latter was shaking his leg, antsy.

He cleared his throat.

“Buck!” Bobby shook his copilot from the daze, “What a welcome surprise.”

Realizing he had no escape plan or maneuvers, Eddie’s leg kept trembling.

“Actually, captain, I was wondering if I could talk to Eddie,” Buck’s mouth went dry. Eddie coughed. Bobby wordlessly crunched on a donut he had grabbed from a nearby plate, contents jutting out from the baked crevice.

“Sure, gives me an excuse to get more donuts,” he got up, but Eddie met him at full height, indecipherably whispering a sentence or two into his ear before the other left.

The two men stood opposite, unaware who would make the initial move.

“I’m sorry for endangering your job and making you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to have to choose the job or a relationship, that’s wrong,” he mumbled.

Eddie stared straight. Buck wondered if the man had military experience by the cold, unreadable demeanor that perfectly crept along his face, perching itself in the lines of stress, intricate folds telling stories.

“Meaning?” he stood, hands behind his back. Like he was _waiting_.

“I want you to know that I like you, which is obvious, but I want to get to know you more. And Christopher. I don’t just say these things to get you to like me,” Buck muttered.

Eddie exhaled somewhat, then regained his composure, “I know, Buck. You’re genuine as all hell. You can’t physically stop yourself from being, well...yourself. It’s kind of remarkable.”

“Wait, really?” Buck thought his eyes were going to fall out of his head.

“And you’re always looking for affirmation,” he continues, “I don’t know why, because you seem pretty amazing. We can be friends, or...” the words drift off, “We can be more. It’s your call.”

“You’re the one who was thinking twice, captain _,_ ” Buck ribbed, absentmindedly sucking on his bottom lip ever so slightly. A mindless habit, the man realized it had a more powerful effect than ever expected.

“Buck,” Eddie’s face bristles, something there he can’t quite place and for a moment it looks like he’s going to tell the younger man to stop completely, “I told you, I’m not a pilot. No one calls me that.”

“That’s what you want to be though, right?” he leans in, able to cut the tension with a knife, “I can call you that if you really want me to.” He’s a brat, and he knows it.

Eddie’s expression is still unreadable, dark and heavy. The air hangs thick, unrelenting. If Buck wasn’t so goddamn horny from repressing the last week, he’d be scared, on the brink of feeling fearful.

“Only if you promise to take off your clothes. Now.”

He’s a brat, and Eddie knows it, too.

“Here?” Buck swallows, but he loosens the tie anyways, slinging it over the empty chair. His mind is pacing a million miles a minute, dizzy from the height and entranced by the breath being taken from him, “How do we know Bobby won’t be back?” A pang of guilt hits his stomach, remembering exactly where they are for a moment, “Like, how fast can we be?”

“Keep it down,” Eddie puts a finger to his lips, and his pupils are growing only larger, “I told Bobby to take a little longer than usual. Talk to the other crew members. Told him I can handle things up here,” he consoles, grasping the fabric of the offending suit still on Buck’s body, “Take this off or you won’t get fucked. Go to the bed.”

It’s at that moment Evan remembers he has never been in this part of the plane before. His mouth opens to ask, but Eddie is already turning the gears inside his own head. He nods over to a small ladder in the corner, a couple of tiny blue steps that reach up into the private quarters for pilot and first officer. Buck kicks off his shoes and climbs with ease.

They’ll take what they can get. The space is tight, cramped. More expensive airlines might have completely separate quarter’s with wide, accommodating beds, but this one is two mattresses disconnected by a partition in the middle. Anything beats the flight attendant “area.” It’s really just stacked beds as wide as caskets in the rear gallery of the plane, so the pilot space elevated over the first class is luxury personified when comparing the difference.

Buck throws the suit jacket towards the pillow, going to undo the buttons on his dress shirt when Eddie nearly fucking _growls_ in a predatory way. He pulls Buck closer, kissing him harshly and undoing the buttons himself like it’s his property rather than on the other man who is an adult. An adult who likes being bossed around. What can Buck say? He’s a prince.

“Eddie,” Buck tosses out a moan that gets taken into the older man’s mouth immediately, like he cannot wait any longer and wants to breathe in the flight attendant until their bodies fuse together in harmony, “It’s not exactly fair if you don’t take off your clothes too.”

“We’ll get there,” Eddie vows, fingers hastily exposing Buck’s chest and mapping out his torso with a deft hand, “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve done this in Tokyo.”

It makes Buck blush. He’s flustered and he kisses Eddie again as the other works down to his pants, undoing the belt buckle there and tossing the slacks over to the same corner as the shirt and tie. He’s running through every detail in his mind, remembering that they’re at least 30,000 feet in the air and that this is _his job_ that he’s possibly sacrificing.

_Nevermind_ , Buck thinks as Eddie kisses up his abdominal muscles, then licks at his jaw. _This is something just as rewarding_.

He loves when others are dominant and he gets to play the whiny submissive, pampered and treated well. Eddie is reaching a hand down to slowly stroke Buck’s dick, sensing it hardening under his touch.

“I-I have lube in my jacket pocket,” Buck remembers suddenly, even though it feels like heaven just with those long digits moving along his cock, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“How can I judge you when I was hoping for the same?” Eddie purrs, then goes to retrieve the bottle, “Surprised no one confiscated this.”

“I’d just bat my pretty eyelashes and hope they get as whipped as you,” Buck grins, earning a pained groan in response that is a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. On his way back across the mattress, Eddie squirms to get out of his own pants, leaving on just the short-sleeved top that is the visual epitome of pilot status. It makes Buck hot and bothered, the status and seniority. He might have watched too many pilot pornos in his spare time.

“Lean back,” Eddie instructs, gently pushing Buck’s body down to the cushion and applying some lube to his hands, “Let me take care of you.”

“I don’t know how much time we have-” Buck tries to say, but Eddie shakes his head.

“We have time.”

Buck doesn’t know what would happen if someone, most likely Bobby, walked into the cockpit during all of this. He swears that finding out is a distant possibility, a figment of his imagination. Besides, the hottest guy he’s ever seen is giving him a handjob as they fly over the world. The sky’s the limit.

Then, Buck looks down. Eddie is _big_.

Eddie splays his legs apart, nibbling on the inside of his thighs. He goes up and down the shaft, the fluidity of the lube helping the hand glide from a stronghold on his base up to the sensitive tip, nerve endings tingling.

“You couldn’t stop thinking about me,” Eddie whispers, licking a stripe along the width of Buck only to make eye contact as his grip grew in intensity, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Eddie is surprisingly talkative when aroused. _Duly noted_.

“Eddie,” Buck pants his name, the temptation burgeoning, “What if someone comes back?”

“It’s captain,” Eddie is pure steel in his correction, stopping the action of his body to drive the point home, “Then you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?”

Buck would have come immediately if he wasn’t a good, patient boy. Or something.

“ _Captain_ ,” Buck meets his gaze, licking his lip before biting it for emphasis, “You should bend me over and fuck me already. _Destroy_ me. I didn’t address you like you wanted.”

“Shit,” Eddie swore, posturing himself on top of Buck’s exposed dick now. He fills the gap between his legs with his own, getting on top to synchronize the grinding between them. Buck is panting, straining to meet the other. _Pure bliss_.

Eddie is finally getting rid of the shirt when the door opens, then closes.

“Diaz?” Bobby’s voice reverberates, and Buck and Eddie look at each other, silently cursing the world below them. _Are you fucking kidding me_.

The man on top clears his throat, then puts another finger to his lips, signaling for Buck to be quiet or they will both absolutely die, their bodies tossed out the window and ready to be engulfed by the sea. They can’t get caught. Not now.

“Up here,” Eddie is still naked, and he moves the privacy curtain away like he was sleeping, “Sorry, I should’ve stayed up front until you came back. It’s on autopilot. I was tired.”

Buck thanks all the powers he barely believes in that Bobby can’t see anything.

“That’s dangerous, Diaz,” Bobby replies, seemingly getting into position at the helm, “Next time, come get me okay? Hopefully I won’t be in the snacking mood again. Plus, Michael would not stop talking to me. Where did Buck go?”

Buck tried to control his breathing, level the panic within.

“The bathroom,” Eddie called out, “Uh, I’m going to sleep.”

_Like hell you will_ , Buck thinks.

“Alright,” Bobby’s voice has an incredulous hint to it, but he says no more.

Eddie returns to Buck, shutting the curtain. They don’t speak to each other. Too much at risk.

Cocking his head, Buck raises an eyebrow in question. Eddie scans the mattress, thinking the ordeal over. He puts the finger to his lips one last time, and for Buck, it’s pure sin.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Buck gets on his stomach, already with a hand covering his mouth. There have been little to no fewer incidents of imminent danger in his life thus far. He’s known to be loud, a little too sensitive, so he is committed to the act of biting down on it if need be. Otherwise, there’s no gag in sight.

The other tries to squeeze out lube, the bottle close to contracting and filling the air with a plastic sound. It makes no noise, a sign from the heavens, and Eddie puts a finger in to stretch Buck out. He responds automatically, the burn tearing through his insides in the most pleasurable way, and the sheet gets bunched under his steadying hold.

Eddie leans in, close to his ear and whispers, “Good boy. Be quiet.” Buck wants to cry, and he turns his hand into a fist. Eventually, Eddie adds another finger, then grazes over Buck’s ass with his mouth and kisses by the rim, “Gorgeous.”

Dizzying heat between them, Buck stares at the ceiling, trying to remain sane.

“Captain,” he whimpers, “Need...need a condom.”

That, to Buck’s surprise, was in the tattered mess of Eddie’s shirt pocket.

He hummed against the flesh, curling fingers at the prostrate and smiling at his creation. Seeing Buck try so hard not to make a noise was _delicious_.

“I don’t break promises,” Eddie hushed between the movement of his fingers, “You’re going to get fucked. Just wait.”

Buck thought he was going to see stars. Eddie took the digits out one by one, slipped on the condom like he was a seasoned professional and wordlessly pushed the arch of his back down to find a suitable angle. He spread Buck’s cheeks open, entering as the other fidgeted in the dark for the tie.

There goes his faltering sense of humility.

Evan took his blue tie and shoved it into his mouth with his right hand as the other felt in dim lighting for a groove in the wall, shift in the curtain, _something_ to hold on with for dear life. Eddie rutted upwards, almost hitting his head on the plane’s dome. He craned his neck, adjusting, Buck reeling in the interim as he reveled in the quick break from absolute annihilation. He was going to feel it for days. The brutality, fierceness and sheer euphoria would leave a stain.

They had to go slow, and the motions almost ignited a pain that he wouldn’t be able to fulfill, an overwhelming want for something _more_ , something _faster_. Something private, not in the cockpit of a plane, like the hotel room the both of them had wanted desperately to share.

Eddie gripped his ass like it was going to be released from gravity at any moment, steadying each cheek with an intensity that lets Buck know he will have red lips, messy clothes and nail marks on his flesh at the end of it all.

“Buck,” he said breathlessly, “Turn over.”

“What?” the other mumbled through fabric.

Pulling out at a leisurely pace, ensuring comfort, Eddie removed himself.

“Turn,” he kissed down Buck’s spine, sending chills, “Over. I want to see you.”

Feeling like a prize, Buck reacted at the sensation of Eddie’s lips on his bare skin for the brief moment, then flipped over as quietly as possible. The mattress creaked. His legs almost swung out to knock the privacy curtain from its cling to the rod.

“Shit,” Buck cursed, still with a mouth around the tie.

“Everything okay in there, Diaz?”

Bobby’s voice was somehow closer.

“Yep,” his southern inflection popped out the last letter, exaggerating the sound, “Doing just fine.”

If Buck wasn’t so damn turned on and attempting to take a vow of silence, he’d laugh.

Then he snaps his head back up, realizing Eddie is gripping the sides of his face, surprisingly tender. Their cocks are touching, Buck’s bare and hard, Eddie with the condom on. He wonders if Eddie knows how beautiful he is, how lovely the sight of his vigor remains.

“You might be everything I’ve been looking for,” Eddie reads his mind, clearly not meaning to say those words aloud. His cheeks are flushed, but they’ve been going at it for minutes, so it might be from sweat alone, “You’re so pretty. I want to see your face.”

Buck might be whatever this man wants him to be, in that moment.

Eddie slips back inside, then adapting a missionary style, steadfast on maintaining consistent eye contact that is practically dripping with the term _intimate_. They’re breathing on top of each other, Buck’s dick bobbing in the gaps where their bodies fail to connect. The tie is straying, falling to the side where, lost in the gravitational pull of one on the other, it becomes unimportant. Eddie, shame out the window and taking immense pleasure from it all, kisses Buck as the opportunity opens. Their unspoken exchange of _do we kiss or not_ is gone, more of the _do I stop kissing to fuck you senseless_ coming in turn. He’s grabbing fistfuls of Eddie’s hair, unintentionally curving his legs to fit the bunk, which enhances the angle of the position. Buck shivers as Eddie ruts, free hand now stroking his twitching member, the precome binding them further.

They’d both lose their jobs if someone found them. That’s a guarantee.

But Eddie had given up caring about structure, hierarchies and rules, he let that go and Buck is the happy recipient of his untethered devotion.

“I’m close,” he whispers, hoping it’s a whisper and not a shout, and Eddie pumps, evilly. Buck releases, biting the hand formerly rooted in Eddie’s curls to control his volume. The sight is enough to make Eddie come, filling the condom. They kiss, breathing into ready lips as if it will lower the amplification of their actions, the vibrations of their deeds.

“Bobby thinks you’re having a really active wet dream,” Buck nudges, reeling, “He might make you see a doctor when we land.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, nuzzling the man below him, “Now how exactly are we getting out of this?”

“You go first. Distract him if you can and I’ll try not to trip over myself leaving,” he takes hands around the bunk, searching for tissues or napkins or anything, “...A little help here?”

Eddie pushes the curtain aside, sticking his head out. He reaches forward and tugs a tissue from the box on Bobby’s side, then darts back. As quiet as they can be, clothes are thrown on. Two grown men are not made for one twin sized mattress in the front of a plane.

In the corner, Buck holds his breath as Eddie crawls back to humanity. Footsteps, light hums of acknowledgement. Silence.

“You know, Buck, you can come out too,” Bobby says, and Buck thinks he’s died, gone to hell and is traveling through the layers right now. This very instant.

“Fucking hell,” Eddie grunts. Buck is a mess, and he almost falls down the steps.

Bobby is in the captain’s chair, legs propped up. He’s reading a newspaper. Eddie is next to him, head in his hands, obviously embarrassed.

“Just didn’t want you to hurt yourself back there. There’s not much room,” Bobby takes a long sip of his coffee, “Now, Buck. I believe you have a job to do. Eddie, you have several hours to explain.”

This is exactly what neither of them wanted.

“...I’m just kidding. Buck, really though, scram. You guys are fine. I don’t give a crap,” Bobby chuckles, waving him off, “Never a dull moment up here in the sky.”

“You don’t care?” Eddie asks, getting louder, “Like, at all?”

“I care more about you not telling me and leaving the plane in autopilot unattended, otherwise...” he looks at Buck, stares him down in the fatherly way he always does, “I’ve seen more in my day. Unless you start sprouting wings and fly next to the plane. Now, get out of here.”

Eddie is smiling darkly when Buck trots out of the cockpit.

“We’ll be without shifts for a couple of days,” Eddie says when they land, clearing his throat. He’s expectant, lighter than Buck would have assumed, “Want to follow my truck home? I can give you the grand tour. Christopher runs the place, I just live there.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” Buck gazes down, their height difference bringing a rosy shade to cheeks worn from a day of overextending their capacities, “Thanks for trusting me, _captain_.”

“The more you call me it, the less I like it,” Eddie jokes, lying through his teeth, “It’s much more fitting for you. I’d be your copilot any day.”

Buck is walking on air.

“Or, you know. I could be yours.”

Their hands interlace, finally back on solid ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Sorry about the large gap between the second and third chapter, I told myself I would wait until I was done to post everything but I got too excited, haha.


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